Hard to Swallow
by Kanthia
Summary: Some things are more difficult to swallow than others. Change is one of them.
1. Her Calling

**Hard to Swallow**  
_/Some things are more difficult to swallow than others. Change is one of them._

Chapter the First: Her Calling   
Word Count: 1,244  
Pairing: Mother x Child  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: One Piece does not belong to Kanthia (or for$kids).  
Inspired by Kaku and Kalifa, and the decisions that can never be changed.  
_

* * *

_

_It is her Eden, and her Fruit; only those who know her song can hear her sing._

* * *

He picked irritably at its edges. It was rough and dark red in colour- crimson like blood, but red nonetheless- and sort of prickly. He rubbed it against the back of his hand where it itched and wondered why the itch wasn't relieved. There were some itches that could not be scratched, and perhaps the itching came from within the fruit and not from underneath his skin.  
"You gonna eat it?" He looked up towards the larger man who was watching him with a focussed glare. "That thing took a lot of blood to get."  
There was a silence that accentuated the uncertainty. A sigh filled the air with white smoke.  
"I know what you're thinking. You might get some shit power and not be able to swim again. Look, it's worth it. Think about how much stronger you'll get." The contradiction flew like eagles too close to the surface and the older man probably didn't notice.  
"But how come you won't eat it?" Why was he trying to get out of eating it? It was power, it was strength, it was freedom. With it driving his soul he was free from humanity's pewter crock over mundane, cold fire.  
"Psh. I'm strong enough- if they catch me, I'll crush their seastone to powder. You, on the other hand, need it. I need you to need it. Imagine the damage we could do together."  
He put the fruit down carefully and replaced it with iron. The Captain got up and left, saying to the door that he'd leave him there to think it over, because there were other people who would get it if he didn't want it. 

There was pain and a burning that replaced confusion as he immersed himself in carefully placed thought. He was eighteen- old enough to understand the way things worked. It wasn't as if he had his ears sewn shut for his whole life, of course. He knew people who had been directly affected by the accident, the disease, the liberty. Fifteen more curls brought back more memories he didn't want to remember. He saw smiles and frowns again, and the Maiden of the Sea singing sweet songs into ears that few could ever remember having. He wondered what she looked like- a young woman, certainly; a young woman with grey eyes and red lips, with hair the colour of the sea at dawn in waves that fell suspended by currents of water.

He put down the weight and picked up the thing again. Were they hers? Did she cultivate them in a garden of her own far below the stirring surface? Did she bless each one with the succulent brush of her full lips? So then it was as if she was the mother of forbidden fruit; her young crop granting her children, the young Adams and the young Eves, knowledge great and terrible. And at a terrible price: to be cast out of her eternal Eden- her seas.

But the knowledge was Eden in itself.

He was a powerful swimmer but not because of any special training. He was strong in or out of the water, with or without weapon. He had to be. He was a pirate. To know the seas was to know her, know the graceful and slender curves of her arms and neck and lips in cerulean euphoria. The plunge, ah, the plunge! The dive and surrender, the pulse of waves sighing to the sky on fire; her domain was no sharpness nor was it ever the same. And to eat of her fruit, then, was to be denied this Eden and to lick your dry lips for the rest of your days.

The irony was not lost on him. He would be cast away from her realm and still skim its surface with not half a mind for what she wanted from him, teasing her foolishly like a child. She had no cares for those who chose to run their fingers in the sweet air between her corpse and theirs. She only cared for those who entered to touch her livid skin, tracing invisible artwork in silent exhilaration along the surface of her defiled body before she pulled them in closer. She was no heavenly body, then; she drew men to their deaths inexorably. A devil. Her song was perfect and deadly.

To be cast out of Eden…

But was it to be cast out?

She did not push away the men who had consumed her crop; she seized their young bodies and refused to let them go until her lips were upon theirs for eternity. Did she love her children? Did she seek them out, anxious to have them to return to her breast? Was to consume the fruit then to become a child of the Goddess of the Sea?

He looked at the fruit in his palm and lifted it to his waiting lips, feeling the roughness brushing on them like a first kiss under a pale moon- the forbidden love released in a single syllable of affection. The teeth sinking deep into cowering flesh crying deep red colours, bleeding and watery; the give and take until nothing was left except one entity.

The first bite was ecstasy in everything except taste. It had the consistency of a firm apple, albeit dryer yet more permitting than most apples he had ever eaten. Had the taste been better he might have enjoyed consuming the thing for its texture; its flavour was deplorable at best. It was God-be-damned bitter, and though it did not taste of things that would make any normal person vomit it was rather difficult to take in despite his love of food.

He pondered for a pallid moment what would happen if he ate half the thing, but the second hanging in space and time was not enough to stop himself- he could not. It was as if the decision to make the first bite was enough to stop his body from doing anything else until there was no trace of fruit left; the Maiden having no love for bastard children. He didn't mind. It tasted awful, but he thought of other things while eating like of home and things that weren't home.

When he was finished, he sat back with a hand resting on the corded muscle over his stomach, contemplating what the future held for him. There was no rewinding the event, no matter how much he regretted it in the future. It was over and done with. There was only the blinding light shining in his face; he could not see the sun for what it held in its heart and in the seas it smiled upon. There was no knowing what song the young maiden's fruit sang inside of him, but he couldn't be bothered with knowing just yet. His mouth was dry.

As his eyes closed to blessed sleep, he could hear the door open and close as the tattoo artist stumbled in to complete his admission into the second most powerful crew in the world. He had gained admittance seconds ago to a more powerful gathering spanning the world and then some, with children that screamed power and ability in the name of their captain, the silent Mother.

The voices of men were soundless as he slipped into dream. He could only hear her song as she whispered lullabies into his head and reached with her arms to greet her new child.

* * *

___/__owarai_  



	2. The Winds Blew Me to You

**Hard to Swallow  
Chapter the Second- The Winds Blew Me to You**

Word Count: 1,549  
Pairing: Friend x Friend  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: ibid  
Inspired by the friendships that nobody notices, because those are the most beautiful.

* * *

_Ignore the earth; look up to the clouds. Unlike the ground, the sky changes._

* * *

_So that's about it_, the letter read. _I'm working with a witch of a woman, whose only concern is to move up in ranks. Me, I don't give a damn as long as I can keep fighting. I think the president notices that we're writing letters, though. Dunno what he'll do about it._

She laughed and wrote back. _  
We **are** using his own mailing system, after all. But I don't mind. I bought a new dress today, bright yellow to match the earrings you bought me before you left with your new job. I still don't see why it's funny, but it looks nice. I'll send a picture some day._

A wingbeat of a week brought his next letter. _  
It's because you're so hyper all the time, I thought the president might like it better if you were sourer. You know, he seems to like people like that. You should see my partner; she's a real bitch. The president must've thought she could hide underground when I let loose, but she's always bitching and yelling about things and calling me half an idiot. Damn, I wish you were here, but you know the president. He only wants people with powers. You should see his vice, though._

The pen met the paper. _  
I've heard about her. You like her better than me?_  
She paused, unsure of what to write. His sentence seemed strange to her; it was not in his character to talk about women. He must have been joking or acting. It made her miss him more.  
_I wish I could be at your level again. Do you know of anyone about to get the boot? I'm stronger now._

He pondered.  
_I've heard people whispering. They say Independence is going to be forcefully evicted for her method of dealing with the propaganda issue. But she's two above me, and he won't let you unless you complement me, even if you are closer to me 'personally' than this mole bitch. And what're the chances of finding one and having it compliment me?_

She refused to let go.  
_Very much, anything is possible. It's Valentine to you now, Five-kun. I've been promoted to Twelve, and I bet you my partner's twice as bad as yours._

He might have been surprised.  
_Congratulations. Stop calling me Five-kun, it makes me feel like we're companions. Independence 'disappeared' last night, so the Three spot's open right now. I wouldn't want it if I was you- Three's a bastard candle, and I think Golden Week's going to get the spot. She didn't work well with the big mass Four either; he's a huge, slow mass of lard and she's a stupid little kid._

She was surprised.  
_So if Golden Week becomes Three, maybe this Christmas you're always on about will become Four. After all, if she is the bitch you said she is, she could knock some sense into Four. What's his Type, anyways?_

He wasn't surprised.  
_He doesn't have one, his gun does. It's a dog._

She tilted her head.  
_Don't you mean his dog is a gun?   
People have been watching me lately training and stuff. It's scary. Write back soon, I miss you and the days when we were Billions together._

_

* * *

_  
He didn't reply; the next letter she received was a package. She was worried that Zero might have been pissed for them misusing the Unluckies, but it wasn't like they had something to do _every_ minute of the day, right? A monkey and a chicken have little to do to entertain themselves when they're not off telling someone that they'd better pack up and leave or they'd find their head neatly removed from their shoulders.

Said otter and said vulture looked at her with a cold glare that only animals are capable of while she opened the box. It smelled deeply but not strongly of flower petals, like the young woman of perhaps thirty years who had been there on the day of her promotion who spoke with a slow softness that permeated the air like her gentle scent.

Twelve sat too close to her on the wooden bench in the busy town centre they were infiltrating or something, starting to put his hand in an interesting place. She slapped it, and it retreated again; did he think it was a game, this advance and retreat and advance and retreat? Did all men play the game just to touch a woman's backside, or was it just Twelve? Five did not; he did what he was told and nothing else.

"What is it?"  
"I have to go to the bathroom." She laughed, high and annoying, but her heart wasn't in it. Twelve never understood that she laughed because she didn't like the person she was laughing at.  
"Can I join you?"  
"The _Ladies_ room."  
"Can I come?"  
"No."

Alone in the confines of a lonely pub basement, she drew in a long breath and savoured the scent again before peaking into the box and trying to still her heart. This was her answer, her dream, her message from someone above saying that she could have him back.

It was a ghostly, sick yellow, like lemons left in the sun for too long and vaguely lemon-shaped, with rough bristles sticking out of the firm skin. She rubbed it with the back of her hand absent-mindedly. If she could be with Five again, maybe one day she could laugh for real like she had not been able to since her mother passed away and she joined this…corporation to make ends meet.  
"Valentine? Are you down there?" The sugary voice of Wednesday, Nine's partner, floated down the stairs. "Nine and I are going to look for some new thorns to add to the cacti. Are you coming?"  
"Don't you have a mission?" She loved swindling naive pirates, but now wasn't the time.  
"No, though I did see the Unluckies today. Did you get a notice? Are you all right?"  
"Ah…no, just that Independence was evicted, and the Three spot's open."  
"Why would anyone be telling you that?"  
"Just because. Not telling." She laughed again, a little sourly; if there was anyone she secretly disliked it was Wednesday, the peacock-duck girl with blue hair. Everything about her was awkward, as if she didn't belong in a criminal organization but in a throne room.  
"Valentine?" Oh, lumpingbiscuts. How did Twelve know where she was? She couldn't stay here, confined to where people could find her. She couldn't stay around weak people who didn't understand that some people just wanted to be cheerful and laugh sometimes. Sure, she was a criminal; criminals are what they are because they want to be free.

She could hear his footsteps pounding absent baselines on the stairs. She had to get rid of the thing. Knowing how rare they were, this would be more of a prize to him than her chest. That didn't make her want to eat it. She didn't want to eat it because he was going to see it and sell it, and she didn't want to eat it because it was rare, and she didn't want to eat it to be powerful. She wanted to eat it to be free.

And what was freedom? Freedom was being strong, freedom was the sea she had now forever forgotten, and freedom was the sky. She could taste clouds and singing women in the aura around the cursed thing in her bleeding hands. Her skin was crying crimson things to the battered air silent and wooden around her. Twelve opened the door. She shoved the thing into her mouth and swallowed hard with bitterness and the faintest taste of a far-off melody.

Even with its roughness, it slid down rather easily without being chewed. It was like a thing that wanted to be eaten; a destiny meant to be manifested, a virus meant to be infected. She could accept that. She could accept a lot of things. She rushed up the stairs, past Twelve saying that he brought alcohol. Out the building, past Wednesday feeding her stupid duck. Past Eight and his stupid hair, past Monday and her stupid muscles. She hated them all. She needed to be free, away, whatever. Her feet remembered the way to dead things on green mountains.

She had just eaten…

She had…

There was a woman there, planting flower seeds at the base of one of the larger cacti. It was _her_, the tall woman who always smelled of loneliness and forgotten things. Her raven hair shifted slightly in the rising wind; her eyes saw everything and then some. "Well?"  
She blanched. "Who are you?"  
A smile that made her entire body freeze. "Many things. You can call me Miss All-Sunday."  
_Miss All-Sun…_She shivered.  
"You're Baroque Works' Vice President?"  
"You may want to use more respect when speaking to the other Officer Agents. They take offence to strange things like that." She spoke slowly, carefully, as though everything she said was worth gold.  
"How do you…why…what…why are you here? What about the Officer Agents?"  
"The Unluckies were busy taking your message to Mr. 5, so I came myself. I was in the area." She shrugged, lifting slender arms. "You've been promoted to Five."

_Oh._

She laughed, free at last. The winds had carried her home.

* * *

_and that, kanthia notes, is some random ooc baroque works lovin'.__  
_

_owarai_

_/kanthia _


End file.
